


liminal

by wolfofwinterfell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Trauma, F/M, Or Is It?, Spinner’s End, definitely not just plot though, oh look some pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29418420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfofwinterfell/pseuds/wolfofwinterfell
Summary: Eileen Snape is dead. Back in his childhood home, her only son is clearly rattled by her passing.
Relationships: Narcissa Black Malfoy/Severus Snape
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	liminal

He sits still on the edge of the bed, looking out the window at the falling snow. It’s dark out now and the snow is still coming down, slower than it had been earlier, but the flakes are just as large. It is dark in the room - in the entire house. Dark and hushed, the sort of quiet born of a snow storm. The world is cold and still, the weather keeping people in. 

Toward the bottom of the short, cold window there is motion, something larger and darker and faster than the snow. He stands to see what it is and, peering down, sees it is a witch. Her hood is pulled up against the wind but strands of hair have escaped the covering and blow in the wind. 

He is tempted to leave her outside, to ignore her. To wait her out until she decides to leave. But she shivers as she looks up toward him, and even though he knows she couldn’t possibly see him here in the dark, he swears she is making eye contact with him right now. 

* * *

  
His floor is a mixture of scratched, dusty hardwood and ragged carpet, the antithesis of the polished surfaces of Malfoy Manor, and he is almost embarrassed for her to see it. He almost doesn’t care. 

Let her see the mess he’s inherited, the mess he’s been trying to fix. Let her see the place he grew up with all its imperfections. 

And yet he wants to hide the stains in the carpet, dark enough to be either blood or whiskey or both, wants to disguise the chips in the paint and nicks in the wood. He wants the dust to be gone, wants the cabinets stocked so he can offer her tea at the very least. 

He wants to show her nothing is different and at the same time wants her to know that everything has changed. 

His parents are dead. 

Tobias had passed first, just a few months ago, the result of an accident one night while he was drunk. Severus hadn’t asked for the details, hadn’t cared. But Eileen had joined him in death now, succumbing to the illness that had been plaguing her for the past several years, and the memory of them both is still very much alive in this house. 

To her credit, Narcissa says nothing on the state of the floor or the walls or the dust, just walks in as though she has been here many times before. Her heels click on the hardwood, are muffled on the carpet, and then there is silence. He shivers as he kneels in front of the fireplace and lights a fire with his wand, reluctant to turn on lights or heat though the house has both. 

When the wood takes and begins crackling he straightens and turns to his company, gestures for her to join him there by the fire, and shoves his hands into his pockets as she approaches. He isn’t sure what to do tonight, what to say. They are both out of their comfort zones, each unaccustomed to seeing the other so uncertain, and he thinks he must be mistaken when he feels her hand brush his hip. 

“You’ve ignored our owls all week.” She hates being disregarded, and he knows that’s part of why she’s here. It’s been a couple years since the novelty of her marriage has worn off and she’s learned that her husband’s preferences in bed can include or exclude her in turns. He has been her confidant when Lucius is tumultuous, her friend regardless, and he knows he’s made her feel slighted. “We were worried.”

“Sorry.” A pitiful apology. “Second term’s just started.” 

She raises an elegant brow. “That’s never stopped you before.” 

“No.” He sighs and almost feels her satisfaction. “Mum died.” 

And this time he doesn’t mistake her touch.

* * *

  
They are on the couch, clothing gone, fire freshly stoked. Narcissa stretches languidly, reminding him of a cat, and leans over to take him into her hand again. She is a master of distraction and he can hardly think coherently as her fingers work. He’s glad for that - and chokes down a moan as she suddenly stops. 

“Bed,” she whispers into his ear. “I need a bed.” 

He opens his eyes to look at her, confused as to the sudden need, and opts to not ask, just stands. They make their way up the stairs, Narcissa ahead of him, and as they reach the top of the landing he starts to tell her to go to the room at the end of the hall on the right. His hesitation is enough direction for her and she goes to the first room instead, and immediately he wishes they hadn’t. His room would have been better, would have been less humiliating. 

There are ghosts everywhere he looks in this room, from ceiling to floor, ghosts he’d rather keep locked away. 

But they’re here now and there’s little to be done as he’s called to the bed. 

He tries to ignore the feel of the duvet, the coolness of the sheets, though he knows they’ve been changed since he did that himself earlier. He half expects to hear someone coming down the hall, either the swift, measured steps of his mother or the heavy, slow stumbling of his father and takes a deep breath to try to clear his head. 

Narcissa’s looking at him, her gaze unexpectedly tender, and she’s quiet as he settles over her. He’s surprised he’s still hard, if he’s being honest, and with heated cheeks he bends his head to kiss the witch as she pulls him into her. He forgets everything else then, can think only of the pressure welling up deep within himself and listening to the demands Narcissa makes as her nails dig into his back. 

She comes first a few moments later and the feel of her around him is more than enough to drive him over the edge. He moans against her mouth, her neck, her chest, and when he goes still he feels her fingers skimming over his shoulders. She’s exploring now in a way she couldn’t earlier and he is suddenly hyper aware of the scars she’s about to find. 

He can tell she’s discovered them when her fingers still. “Severus… Your back….” 

“Is long healed.” He puts his head down again, plants another kiss on her collarbone. 

“Can I check?” 

She’s skeptical or she wouldn’t ask but he sighs as he slips from her and rolls over to face the wall. As she looks at the damage from his father, he stares at the wall, sees the spot he had to help patch up when he came home for the summer after sixth year when Tobias nearly sent Eileen through to the next room. 

“The Dark Lord?” She whispers their old master’s name as though he’ll hear it and the thought almost makes Severus want to laugh. 

“My father.” 

She plants a kiss against one of the worst scars then, the one that starts on his right shoulder, and he feels her whisper an apology against his skin. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Snapefest over on LJ. 
> 
> One of my favorite fanfic authors is humanveil. I was rereading one of her pieces, titled "into the abyss," and was inspired by her opening paragraph.


End file.
